


Lost?

by SketchLockwood



Category: 15th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF, The Sunne in Splendour - Sharon Kay Penman, The White Queen (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 14:06:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3653190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SketchLockwood/pseuds/SketchLockwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prince Edward (later Edward V) Is stationed at Ludlow. What happens when the family come to visit?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost?

Ludlow, 1479

The corridors were dark, cold and damp. The stench of musty years long past filled his nostrils. He was lost, thoroughly lost. How could that be so? This was his castle, his home. He wiped a stray tear, shivering as the cold night wind whistled through the cracked window. He had never seen this part of the castle at night, he never wanted to again either. 

He shrunk down onto the floor, bones aching from running all this time. It had started off as a game in the warm luxury of his bedchamber, when Dick had begun a simple game of hide and seek. Soon they had grown bored. Although the second best chambers were indeed expansive, they were not big enough to house true royal fun. 

So they had promised to keep the game confined to their floor. That had gone well until Richard had ruined the game and fallen over. He had nearly wailed down the palace. Elizabeth, Mary and Cecily had come into the chambers then, shivering in their nightdresses. He had truly thought that the fun would end then! But it hadn't they had silenced little Richard's tears and settled him comfortably onto his bed before they had asked what the boys had been doing. "Playing hide and seek." He had then muttered, hesitantly. 

The girls had surprised him more than his withdrawn confession when they had said they would play too. That they found it so awfully difficult to sleep at Ludlow. They were used to the plush security of Westminster Palace. The game had turned away from hide and seek, as the Princesses had said they would find themselves in trouble should they wake any of the adults with their games. 

They had instead decided to set dares for one another. First simple one's, like standing on the window ledge, or climbing onto the dresser or doing a dance. Then they had got more complicated, and he had been tempted to end it but he hadn't. Cecily had dared him to steal and orange from the kitchen. And then the room had gone silent. He had accepted, despite Elizabeth's muttered objection. 

Then he had gone, leaving his chambers in just his night gown. He had not expected it to be so cold! He had reached the bottom of the stairs - those used by the servants, not the ones to the Great Hall where he would risk encountering his father, who could still be awake and most unhappy to be disturbed by a child at this hour. He had refused to go back for his slippers however, continuing into the night. Running barefoot across the Inner Bailey, past the old Norman chapel and toward the kitchens. 

Somewhere he must have taken a wrong turning, mistaking it for the right one in the unforgiving night. As he looked around he thought he recognized it. How was he to be certain? The shadows cast on the high and arching ceilings suggested he was sat crumpled, cold and unprincely in Mortimer Tower. 

He tried to recall his route through twists and turns with little success. He couldn't help but question how long he had been missing. Whether his sisters would yet be looking for him. 

He stood, beginning to walk back the way he thought he had come. He stopped quickly as something sharp hurt his foot. He lifted it quickly, rubbing a hand along the sole. Don't cry Edward, King's don't cry, Papa wouldn't cry.

He braved it, running down the stairs to try and confuse the pain. If he moved fast enough, perhaps the pain would stop. 

His plan was working. He followed the stairs through a door. Running out onto soft, damp grass. All he needed to do now was find his way back to his chambers and this awful game would be over, orange in hand or no.

He turned left, running through the grass and smelling the air. He followed the grass, letting his feet plan the journey more than his brain. He was so tired, his brain was tired, shouting for sleep. The pain registered again and he sat, holding his foot in the grass. Minutes later and before he knew it, he was asleep. 

 

*** 

Dawn arrived, the birds were chirping, the bells of St Lawerences were ringing and the sun was making the grass glitter. He woke up shivering, sniffling and sore. Sitting up he tried to remember what had happened, remembering the pain in his foot. He peered at it now in the sunlight. Something sharp had sliced the skin. 

He ran a hand through damp hair, pulling grass from it's golden brilliance. Where was he? 

He looked around, no wiser for the view. He stood quickly, rising to tiptoes as he strained to see. The river was below, the castle walls out of sight and- 

"Oi! You! Come 'ere lad!" 

He looked around quickly, seeing the man approaching in his ragged clothes. He was about to comment, scared this man would harm him. Scared of this man's appearance, but then he remembered his own clothes, now muddied and torn from the nights adventures. No one would believe he was Prince of Wales, heir to the throne of England and son to one of the greatest men in Christendom 

He shivered from cold and nerves as the man reached him, looking at him with relative affection. "Now, what is a little boy li' you doin' in a field o'mine?" The man used a dirty hand to lift his chin, looking at his teeth and hair. "You'a mess too lad. Tell ya what. I's shall take ya back to me wife. She'll 'ave a look at ya, ten we shall see who your parents are. You ain't an orphan are you?"

He shook his head, too scared to say the words. That was treason! To suggest his parents were dead was treason! If he was so readily prepared to commit treason, what was this man to do with him when he got him to the privacy of his own home?

He wanted to run but did not know where. Or if his crippled foot would carry him far. He stepped, stumbling as pain filled his body. He cried out, caught by the man who then lifted him. "Poorly foot ave we? Well, t'wife shall look at tat for you, poor child." 

It was half an hour after he had got to the house, or so the woman had told him that he heard the shouts. Hurried feet were filling the streets of Ludlow, one shout after another. "Edward?!" The voice was startlingly familiar, the accent precise whilst almost local. It faded quickly. The child sat on the wooden stool, sipping broth with the woman he now called Mrs Bennett gently tending his foot. 

Ten minutes later the door opened, the man he had seen on the field entered, followed by a cloaked figure. Short yet broad. His physique that of a soldier not a farmer. As he stepped into the light, Edward noticed it was William Hastings'. his father's loyal servant staring back at him from under the hood. "Is this him My Lord?"

Hastings stepped closer, the hairs on his chin remaining. He hadn't shaved, so he had left the castle in a hurry. Edward averted his eyes, blushing as he thought of the trouble he had caused. His mother would certainly have something to say about this. Hastings' hand reached his chin, his other hand brushing his hair out of his face whilst he lifted Edward's head. A moment later it was released, and a stinging sensation was invading his cheek. Prince Edward's hand shot to his cheek as warm tears brimmed over his eyes. 

"Foolish boy, do you know the trouble you have caused?" Edward looked to the floor as Hastings knelt beside him, eyes burning shame into him. "Your father is terrified, worried what's happened to you and why you were out of your bed! Your mother distraught! Your sisters and brother I doubt will be able to sit for a week when their governess is through with them. Your father is out in Ludlow, alone and unarmed and if anything should befall him it will be on your head!" 

The man looked awkward as Edward started crying, confronted by Hastings harsh words. Mrs Bennett stepped back as Hastings pushed her, lifting the Prince into his arms as the boy continued to sob. "Crying will not help you, come along." Hastings walked towards the door, saying nothing as Mr Bennett opened it for him, watching as Lord Hastings walked quickly up the dirt path. 

Prince Edward hid his head in the Chamberlain's shoulder, masking his tears. It was just moments before he heard the familiar thud of hooves, galloping at speed toward them. "Hastings have you-" The familiar voice filled his ears before he could have seen him. The horse came to a stop and he heard the sound of boots slipping out of stirrups. "Thank God, give him here." 

Prince Edward whimpered as Hastings reluctantly handed him into soft arms. A second later warm lather was wiping the tears from his eyes. "Don't cry my son, don't cry, hush. You're safe now."

"I think the question is what the boy was doing in the first place." Hastings hissed, displeasure bittering every word. 

"I think the answer is to keep your nose out Will. The boy is your future king, I shall not have you refer to him thus." King Edward placed him gently on the saddle, running a hand over his reddened cheek. "Has someone struck you?" He visibly squinted, running a gentle finger down the mark. "They have." He turned sharply to Hastings. "Did you do this?" The King's eyes burned with raw Plantagenet fury.


End file.
